"Personally, I don't go for the type of girls who charge by the hour, or even just look like they do," I explained.
"I do not look like a hooker!" fumed Harley Quinn. "Do not do not do not! OOOOoooooh!" It was like watching a four year old have a temper tantrum. "You better watch what you say about me, 'cuz Mistah Jay won't like it."
"First of all, does either of us give the impression that we care what 'Mistah Jay' likes?, and second, from what I've seen of him so far, he'd probably laugh too." Gracie pointed out.
"I'm gonna enjoy tonight," Harley said, her mouth doing something hard and mean. "You made me lose my place. Hold on one second." For the first time, I noticed that she was holding the Warden's cane and had his ID clipped to her Naughty Nurse blouse. Tottering off screen on her silly vinyl boots, she disappeared, and a moment later, an office chair spun into sight with Warden Sharp in it, bound and gagged with duct tape. The gag had a red lipstick smile crayoned on it.
"Good start," I admitted, "At least he's quiet."
"Yeah," Harley screeched, reappearing. "I'm now subbing for the old man. He actually thinks he runs this place! Talk about crazy!" Putting one knee on an arm rest, she leaned up against him, caressing his bald head and cradling it to her breasts. "Old Sharpie's never been happier, see?" She slapped his face and stepped in front of him, leaning on the cane and flaunting her tits for the camera again. Which meant she was also shoving her ass in Sharp's face. I wondered how he enjoyed that.
"Now the inmates are running the asylum. Well, technically, it's the Joker's goons shipped in from Blackgate, but you get the picture. We've got control of everything—all the gates, all the locks, all the codes—and that means you two aren't going anywhere until me and Mistah J. are ready for you. Buh-bye!" She stepped back, hefted the cane in one hand, swung it, and smashed the camera.
"Well, she certainly told us, didn't she?" Gracie drawled sardonically. "You know, I cannot for the life--or afterlife, either--of me imagine the two of them actually having sex. I'm not talking about that being an image too horrible for the mind to comprehend, but more like trying to imagine a begonia plant and a piece of Gruyere cheese getting it on. I just don't see how it could work."
"Hold that, uh, thought," I said. "What I want to know is, what are you, uh, gonna come up with to top her outfit? Something with more class, but something that's uniquely you."
"Why do you think I would bother?" she asked.
"Hey, it's me, remember? I know my sassy girl, and I know her down to her Shoes. Now, Rocky Horror Barbie may think she has us trapped in here, but she, uh, didn't strike me as being the brightest diamond in the vault. Up there in that wall is one of those vents. I'm gonna boost you up there so you can get the cover off. Because of the two of us, you're the one who can't get stuck or sliced up by fans or mashed flat by a trash compactor, plus you have your nifty floating flaming marshmallow ghost lights to show you where you're going, you're gonna be the one to scout out where it goes while I have a look around here for another way out. Okay?"
"All right." She stood on my shoulders and unscrewed the grating, then slithered up into the hole. "I don't need my lights. There's lighting built in, for some reason."
"Does it seem sturdy enough to hold my weight?" I asked.
"Sure. I'll holler when I get somewhere."
I heard shouting and gunfire as I moved through the ducts, both close by and distant. I was the right choice for doing this sort of exploring, because there were dead ends (not to mention dead rats) and air circulation fans which blocked parts of it. But it was also boring.
'Find any other way out?' I asked Jay.
Not yet. Just another duct at floor level that led nowhere. I found somebody's stash of M&Ms, though.
'And I found three dead rats.'
Classy joint, this Arkham. I'll save you some of the M&Ms.
'Thanks. So what are you doing?' I was concentrating on not getting lost, so I wasn't paying that much close attention to his thoughts. However, I had the definite sense he was up to something.
Well, I found this first aid kit and this little sewing kit, and I thought I would put the two together and try something new.
'Such as?'
Doing good. You know, there's something to be said for it, it kind of gives you this warm glow...
'What precise form is this 'doing good' taking?' To say that 'doing good' was unlike Jay was like calling ice hot and rain dry, or looking for a secular version of the Bible.
Ministering to the wounded.
'Which wounded?'
I've been patching up that guy who was bleeding, the one you said you couldn't kill.
'You mean Zsasz? You've been patching up Zsasz?'
Yup. Took about five stitches to close up his throat, and twenty in his arm.
'And you did that with a needle and thread someone had on hand for reattaching buttons on their shirt?'
Not quite. I did it with a needle and thread for reattaching buttons on a coat. They're thicker and sturdier.
'But they're not sterile!'
No, no, it's cool. I used almost all of a big bottle of iodine on him, just to make sure.
'What did you give him for the pain?' I asked, starting to get worried. Had the conventions of Story warped Jay's personality to fit that of a Hero?
....Aw, darn it! I knew I forgot something. His mental voice told me he was putting me on. I never tried 'doing good' before, so is it that much of a surprise that I'd mess something up? It's okay, though. He passed out on me after a while. Of course, I, uh, kinda had to kneel on him to get him to hold still.
What a relief. Jay was fine. Nothing had messed with his personality at all; he had simply engaged in some recreational semi-torture involving a blunt needle, heavy thread, possibly the most painful disinfectant known to medicine, and Zsasz, who deserved it.
Oh, yeah. For some reason he kept yelling, uh, "Not my brains! Don't eat my brains!" You got any insight into that?
'He probably thought you were a zombie...Hey! I've finally come out somewhere!' I could see a hallway below me, and a guard--the same guard who had told me to get somewhere safe. I was back where I started. He was wrestling with a pair of airlock doors, and as I turned solid to kick the grate off, I saw it open. He ran through at full speed, a klaxon blaring--. And there, just inside the doors, were three sets of teeth. We were back on Other Joker's trail.
I relayed this to Jay, and sent one of my ghost lights to lead him through the duct. Meanwhile, I jumped down to follow wherever the teeth might lead me, mentally changing back into Arkham scrubs as I did so.
Where they led was to 'Decontamination'. Behind a viewing window, I could see a cloud of green vapor rise up inside the room like a bathtub filling up, and the sound of horrible, humorless laughter. "Oh, God, no!" screamed the guard. In the verdigris-colored mist, I could see human forms convulsing and jerking--before collapsing.
"Environmental Toxins Detected," said the bland female voice that seemed to do all the taped announcements, "Quarantine Mode Engaged." A second shield slid down in front of both door and window.
"What is wrong? What is that gas?" I asked him.
"It's Joker Toxin--it's poisonous. I don't know what to do--they're all dying in there!"
I looked up--at an open maintenance hatch. "Boost me up!" I ordered him. Jay had said it was my job to do all the heroic stuff, and this qualified.
"What?"
"Up, up!" He got the idea. There was another duct in that area, and it led into the upper area of Decontamination. Joker Toxin, whatever it was, (Jay would probably know or at least be able to guess) was heavier than air; it took an awful lot to fill the room and it wasn't uniformly thick. As it rose up toward the high ceiling, it thinned out considerably. Several guards had managed to get up on high cabinets or into the scaffolding that supported the ductworks and the lights, with varying degrees of stability.
"Help me! I'm gonna fall!" called the nearest, who was clinging onto the scaffolding for dear life. I pulled him up, then made a running leap onto the next duct just in time to see a ladder tear loose and smash into something that exploded with a shower of sparks and a cloud of smoke--leaving a guard dangling from the next highest level.
"Hang on, Steve!" shouted another guard.
"I can't! I'm slipping!"
" Hang on! Nurse--you're light, you won't break the catwalk. There's an extraction point at the other end of the room. Steve was trying to get to it." I nodded, ran up the ladder on the other side, saved Steve's butt, then leapt down to the next scaffold, where a Blackgater was also hanging on.
"I can't believe they left me here!" he complained.
I let him hang while I quickly scanned the room. A guard had collapsed while trying to reach a glass-fronted switch box, which looked more like an extraction point than anything else I could see. Taking off a Shoe, I let fly.
It went straight to the box, broke the glass, and started a series of powerful fans going. A moment later, the recorded voice said, "Air purity returning to normal levels. Quarantine mode disengaged."
The guards gave me a cheer as I jumped down and retrieved my Shoe, which was none the worse for wear. "Come on down!" I yelled. "CPR! Crash cart! Oxygen!" There were at least two dozen dead and dying men in the room, guards and prisoners alike. I have, thanks to my supernatural nature, a unique insight into who can be resuscitated and who can't, and a talent for successful resuscitation. Something I learned from Death--how to see when brain death hasn't happened yet. I can't heal, I can't cure, I can't make a bullet in a vital organ go away. As I said, I have only a few tricks, but I make do.
The next fifteen to twenty minutes were very busy. The guards not only found the oxygen, they found something better, one of the staff psychiatrists, an older woman verging on elderly by the name of Dr. Gretchen Whistler, who was of course also an MD. We started working together. Jay wandered in, and raised the guards' hackles until I told them he was with me. I lost track of what he was doing while I helped the doctor, but I do remember him poking around into various cabinets and areas, saying things like, "Ah, crystal violet! Potassium permanganate...What else have they got? Hey, the guys in, uh, red have knives."
Eventually, all the bodies were sorted out into the living and the dead. Not everyone who was dead had died of the gas; shell casings littered the floor, testament to the gun battle that had gone on. I looked down at a very dead Blackgater who was younger than I was when I died, his face covered in clown make-up and his body covered in gang tattoos. What had it all been for, really? Had someone loved him? Would anyone miss him?
"Miss Chen?" Dr. Whistler put her hand on my shoulder. "Coffee?" She held out a cup.
I could eat and drink while I was tangible, although I had no idea what happened to it later as bodily functions had become more or less optional for me. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Please, sit down. Are you by chance related to Dr. Adrian Chen, over in Medical?" she asked as we took seats.
Uh-oh. I had to pick the same last name as someone on staff. "Not that I know of. There are many people named Chen in China." I had maintained my accent throughout. Dr. Whistler had an accent herself; German, I thought.
"I see. What department are you with? I do not think you can have been here long." She seemed like a very nice lady.
"I am a lab tech, and you are right. I have been here only a little more than three weeks." I answered, hoping she wasn't going to check it out. "I was sent over to pick up some samples when...everything happened."
"I'm sorry that you were caught in this. Do you like working in the laboratory, Miss Chen?" Dr. Whistler sipped her coffee, watching me.
"I--it is a good job, and I am grateful to have it and grateful to be able to work here in America and support my family."
"You can be honest with me. Please."
I knew a little about jobs like that. "It is not as I expected--not this place nor the work itself. It is more dull than I thought. Also I do not like the schedule I work very much--and I have worked extra shifts when I was needed, but when I got paid, the money was not there. If I am paid for the hours that is one thing, but to work sixty hours and be paid for forty is--exploitation. But if I complain I may get fired. I do not want to be fired."
"You won't be. Miss Chen, I heard from the young man with the--" Dr. Whistler gestured at her face, meaning Jay's scars, "that you fought off Zsasz and went unharmed, and then I know you came right here and without hesitation, came into a room full of poison gas, cleared it, and then began triage. Someone with such resourcefulness and ability is wasted as a lab tech. I have the power to choose my staff, Miss Chen. I would very much like for you to work here in Intensive Therapy. Whatever extra training you need, I can arrange with the Wayne Foundation, or if you need help with Immigration, that too can be arranged. There of course would be a raise in pay, and greater flexibility in your schedule. Also I promise that you would be paid for any overtime."
I looked into the depths of my coffee. How would Bing Qing Chen (the full name I had imagined) answer? "I would like that very much, but I think that must wait until we live to see tomorrow."
Someone rapped on the wall above my head. "Hey, Sassy Girl. What do you, uh, think?"
I looked up. There stood Jay, in his full make-up, white face, black around the eyes, red smeary lips, malevolent and magnificent all at once. And he was wearing a dark, so dark it was almost black, purple suit with a light purple shirt.
TBC...
A/N: So how did he do it? Perceptive readers will find clues in the chapter.
Thanks for the reviews!